Chapter 56

The Atlantic was a clear sheet of quivering blue. Its million transient dimples made up a million mirrors to mock the sun. This flamed in the heaven, blurring the outline of the mountains, setting the still air dancing, lending shadow a substance that filled the eye. Beneath this fierce benevolence the grounds of the Villa Iriberri glowed with content. The bravery of the hanging gardens and the strip of yellow sand at their foot issued an invitation that smacked of the golden world. St. Loe put a hand to his head. …